


show me yours, and i'll show you mine

by fuckendeavor666



Series: and here is the center of me [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: 12.7k words of iruka's internal gay conflict, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Sick Fic, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, all comfort no hurt baby, high school teacher au kind of, iruka is the Ideal Man, it's ok tho baby if i had feelings for kakashi i'd be conflicted too, kakashi is a petulant baby and iruka takes care of him, kakashi is good at one thing and it is raising iruka's blood pressure, kakashi scoot over i want him, mentions of kakashi's past, no beta we die like men, oh there is one scene inspired by the wind rises at the end, so many feeings, they teach at the same school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckendeavor666/pseuds/fuckendeavor666
Summary: kakashi is sick, and iruka makes a very adept nursemaid.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Series: and here is the center of me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084967
Comments: 20
Kudos: 110





	show me yours, and i'll show you mine

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone!! i have been writing this fic since april... and i am so fucking glad it's done. i hope the writing is coherentlmao ANYWAYYY just some general housekeeping stuff that i think i forgot to mention in the fic; 
> 
> iruka got a flu shot so that's why he's not worried about getting sick (kakashi unvaccinated king)  
> they are teachers at the same high school  
> asuma is iruka's older brother, and you will have to pry this from my cold dead hands 
> 
> im sure i am missing some other stuff i wanted to include but ive been writing this and finishing it for the last couple hours so plz forgive me since my brain is fried to hell and back

It’s nothing at first. 

Little aches in his legs on an unusually brisk Monday morning, a shortness of breath that Kakashi pointedly dismisses on Tuesday, a tightness in his chest by Thursday. There is a cloudy sort of haze that makes thinking about anything for too long troublesome, and Kakashi wants nothing more than to just bury himself beneath a horde of blankets and sleep for the foreseeable future. If Kakashi drinks a little more tea than usual, nobody notices. If he sits next to the heater in the teacher’s lounge during breaks shivering in his extra layers, nobody bats an eye. It’s nothing worth bothering anyone over, and it’s not like he hadn’t been taking care of himself since he was barely the same age as his current class of first year students. 

He just has to make it to Friday, he keeps telling himself, when he’d be free to beat whatever had him feeling under the weather to begin with. 

It’s nothing, he continues to tell himself; certainly not something to make people (namely: Iruka, who fusses a great deal more than the average person) go out of their way for. Shuffling into his home, Kakashi clumsily takes his shoes off by the door, and then sways as he attempts to place his car keys on the hook, missing the mark twice and knocking the thing near off his wall before he’s successful. His wallet and book bag are discarded carelessly on his kitchen table. Mindlessly, he moves through the motions of letting his dogs out and back in, refills their water and food bowls. Once he’s made it to his room, he doesn’t bother to change, but he does rip his mask off and toss it to the side, inhaling a large breath only for the unstuffy, fresh air to cause his body to become wrecked as he struggles to contain a coughing fit. 

When he finally pulls back the covers on his bed and lays down, his breathing is wet with a cough he can’t seem to shake loose. Uhei and Pakkun and Bisuke jump on his bed then, their bodies nestling closer to his shoulders and neck and he’d push them off if their warmth wasn’t such a welcome comfort after a weeklong of having this perpetual chill sit just below his skin. Bull and the others are next, settling on and around his legs. Kakashi begins to feel comfortably warm for the first time since the nastiness of this head cold burrowed into his body.

Eventually, the tug of exhaustion weighs heavily on Kakashi’s brain, and he drifts off to a dreamless and fitful sleep. 

***

It had taken sitting down and letting his mind wander for Iruka to notice. 

The week had been busy, though not abnormally so, with meetings and lesson planning and taking Naruto to and from various extracurricular activities. Iruka barely had a quiet moment to himself. So, really, he couldn’t be faulted with not realizing sooner that Kakashi was acting strange. The reason being that Iruka’s always known this-- obviously. It’s Kakashi. Nearly five weeks ago they’d had their first date and Iruka had found a stash of porn so large it could serve as an R rated public library. 

But this was different. Iruka neatly placed the memories he’d been collecting at the forefront of his mind. Firstly, Kakashi’s movements were sluggish. Iruka always catalogued each of these movements with a benign and cordial interest, of course. If anyone asked, he would claim that he pays attention to all the little quirks that his friends have. But no one asked, or noticed, and Iruka was content for now in believing that comfortable white lie he’s been telling himself. 

The one that Kakashi was still at an arm’s length, and hadn’t yet crawled into his heart and made a home for himself there nestled within the beating muscle and kicked his feet up, Icha Icha and all. 

That train of thought dissolves immediately as Iruka again recalls the previous week, and the more-strange-than-usual Kakashi. He was slow and almost clumsy-- something Iruka had never once associated with his fellow teacher. On Wednesday, Iruka had watched him knock over a mug of hot water while making a cup of tea. Kakashi’s movements were always languorous but deliberate, executed with a confidence that Iruka knew wasn’t based in arrogance. He was on par with Gai with athleticism-- though you’d never be able to tell with the way he held his shoulders. Any and all performative carelessness had been erased. 

And to make matters worse, he’d been avoiding Iruka. Even before they began this dating thing, Kakashi always had a habit of sitting close to Iruka, taking up some of his space. Letting their fingers brush, or their forearms, or their knees. Reaching for Iruka’s wrist just to turn his hand palm side up, and place something in it. Sometimes Kakashi would go as far as resting a steady and self-assured hand on the small of Iruka’s back when he reached for something above the counter in the teacher’s lounge and Iruka happened to be in the way. Kakashi was tactile in a much more quiet way than Iruka, though no less tender. Where he was silent in his affections, Iruka couldn’t,  _ wouldn’t _ , be silent and loved to love as loudly as possible. 

But it wasn’t like that this week. It was as if Kakashi couldn’t put enough distance between the two of them. Iruka had chalked it up to general Kakashi-strangeness; but now, as he waits in this dimly-lit and warm restaurant, sitting alone at a table for two, deliberating over the accumulation of what he deemed unworthy of being typical Kakashi-strangeness-- he isn’t so sure. 

Iruka’s leg bounces under the table, making the water and ice inside his glass tremble with tiny tremors. It is nearly empty, because he’d ordered it an hour ago when he sat down at the restaurant Kakashi had made reservations for two weeks ago. Across from him sits Kakashi’s own untouched, sweating glass. There is a water ring beneath it, growing larger and larger and larger with every minute of Kakashi not being there. 

And yeah, this is different, too. Kakashi was late-- but never,  _ ever  _ this late. At least not for their dates. Kakashi was punctual for those--sort of. Iruka’s fingers scraped against the fabric of his nicest jeans, before clutching tightly in a balled fist. 

At once, the waitress clears her throat to his left. Iruka didn’t even notice her at first, he was staring so intensely at Kakashi’s full glass of water as if wishing he could summon the grey-haired bastard here with the ferocity of the look alone. “Have you decided on something to order?” Her voice is pleasant, kind. But there is a pinch to her eyes that makes Iruka feel as if he is being pitied. She had already checked his table three times, and each time he had to send her off with a quick  _ i’m waiting for someone, thank you _ . 

Iruka breathes deeply through his nose, before offering the waitress a measured and practiced smile. “Actually, I think it would be best if we reschedule. Would I be able to reserve a table for next weekend instead?” 

By the time Iruka’s pulled into Kakashi’s family home, he’s worked himself up quite a bit. A slurry of things and situations and accidents all making the collar of his shirt itch against his skin. He ripped off his tie as soon as he’d gotten back to his car and started the engine--his worry making it difficult to breathe. It wasn’t until he’d started reciting Naruto’s pet and plant collection backwards from newest to oldest that he’d calmed himself enough that breathing didn’t hurt. 

White knuckling his keys, Iruka focuses on breathing deeply and takes the path up Kakashi’s driveway from the street with surefooted intensity. Though, the breathing exercises he taught himself in high school didn’t do shit when it came to how much Kakashi managed to raise his blood pressure. And to make matters  _ even  _ worse, he tried to call Kakashi a few times, but all of the calls rang all the way before Kakashi’s voicemail started. “ _ Sorry, can’t come to the phone right now. I’m getting lost on the path of life... _ .” 

Kakashi wasn’t like that either; he never let Iruka’s calls drop. 

It was possible that Kakashi had simply forgotten about their date. He could be reading his  _ Icha Icha _ books again, attempting to decompress after a long and hectic work week at the school. But Iruka knew that was unlikely, so he dismissed it at once. Kakashi was usually pretty forward about his excitement for their upcoming plans -- what with his many suggestive and oftentimes inappropriate-for-the-workplace-type comments. That was something that was off about him this week as well. He hadn’t even mentioned the dinner reservation--not even when Iruka said he was looking forward to it earlier the same day. 

By the time Iruka has trekked up Kakashi’s driveway, noting that Kakashi’s car was indeed sitting in his driveway, and saddled up to Kakashi’s door, he feels pieces of his resolve crumble away. He’s caught somewhere between wanting to scream at Kakashi for standing him up, and wanting to make sure his irritating asshole of a boyfriend was alright. 

Before he can sike himself out, he raises a fist and fights the petty urge within himself to bang on the door. He knocks in quick succession three times with a  _ normal  _ amount of force, and then lets his hand fall limp to his side. 

There is an eruption of barking on the other side of the door, and after a few tense minutes he hears Kakashi silencing them, and then Kakashi is swinging the door open. 

Any residual resolve to put up a fight leaves Iruka’s body as he takes in the flush of Kakashi’s cheeks, the tepid quality of his movements as he leans heavily on the doorframe.

“‘ruka?” Kakashi’s voice is thick, and it occurs to Iruka that he looks sleep-rumpled. One side of his grey button up is untucked, and half of his sock is hanging off his foot. 

Before he can answer, Kakashi sways forward. Iruka is there to catch him, and it all hits Iruka at once. 

Kakashi is sick. 

And then it all makes a stupid amount of sense; the slowed movements, the sleepiness, the distance he attempted to put between himself and Iruka, the forgetfulness. 

Iruka would curse himself out for his own lack of foresight if there wasn’t a hundred and fifty pounds of sick boyfriend in his arms. 

“Kakashi,” Iruka grunts when Kakashi abandons all pretenses of holding onto the door and leans all of his weight on Iruka instead. Iruka readjusts his grip on Kakashi’s waist, and pulls him close only for Kakashi to make a pathetic attempt to rip himself free. Kakashi’s weak with whatever he managed to get sick with. Iruka scowls down at where Kakashi’s head is being pillowed on his shoulder only to stiffen. 

Kakashi’s sweating  _ a lot. _ Iruka can feel the heat rippling off of him in waves as if they are tangible. 

“Quit squirming,” Iruka scolds, and Kakashi goes limp. Iruka maneuvers them back inside, shutting out the night edged with the lingering frost and ignoring the dogs’ attempts to sniff his ankles. Getting Kakashi to cooperate is met with varying degrees of opposition, as Kakashi fights Iruka’s proffered help as well as clinging to Iruka’s side. Though, once he’s got Kakashi on the bed, he stares down at the man with a tight frown. 

Kakashi stares back up with wide, glossy grey eyes, his expression sullen. 

“Don’t look like that,” Kakashi pouts, and he lurches forward. He buries his face into Iruka’s nicest white button down, surely getting slobber and snot and sick all over the front of it, only to wrap his arms around his waist. “Don’t be mad.” 

Iruka’s shoulders fall, his cheeks warming. He didn’t mean to look angry. Naruto was telling all the time that his angry and concerned face were eerily similar. 

“Kakashi,” Iruka breathes out slowly, and places one of his hands on the other’s grey hair. It’s matted down on the back, plastered flat with moisture. “I’m not mad. How long have you been feeling ill?” 

Some incoherent mumbling, and then Iruka pulls himself from Kakashi, and crouches down to look the other man in the eye. He’s a bit petulant when he’s sick, Iruka notes feeling begrudgingly fond over the fact. Not entirely unlike a certain blond boy Iruka knows. What with the way Kakashi is clinging to Iruka’s wrist in his lap and the way he’s pouting, Iruka would say he could give even Naruto a run for his money in this respect.

Kakashi sniffles, and Iruka has to fight the urge to frown outright. Kakashi does look quite sick--maybe even more than Iruka had originally assumed a few minutes ago when the man opened the door. His eyes are glassy, and his nose is a little red, and his lips are pale and chapped. 

Iruka’s lips pinch in a tight line, because obviously Kakashi didn’t  _ just  _ get sick. He must have been walking around with his mask on breathing in his own germs for god knows how long. 

Kakashi sniffles pathetically and Iruka features soften marginally. “Kakashi,” Iruka takes one of Kakashi’s hands--which are ice cold-- in his and begins to rub his thumb softly over the knuckle. “Can you tell me how long you’ve felt ill, please?”

To this, Kakashi frowns as if he’d been asked a particularly hard question. Even with his mask, Iruka has become accustomed to interpreting Kakashi’s mannerisms: the crinkle of his eyes, his slouch, his way of speaking, even. Iruka could probably tell what Kakashi was thinking with a curve of just a single eyebrow. Chalk all that up to his Kakashi-grade intuition. Though Iruka knows that it was something different, this deeply embedded part of him can feel how slightly off the week had felt. He spent the last three years attempting to discern the deliberateness of Kakashi’s slouch, the glint in his eyes, the meaning hidden within his strange way of speaking. Looking at Kakashi now, with his wet eyes and feverish skin, Iruka scolds his own lack of action. 

And without his mask, Iruka has come to learn that Kakashi is almost painfully expressive. Any and all of that aloofness people generally associate with Kakashi falls away the moment the fabric leaves his skin. Iruka doesn’t have to guess what it is Kakashi’s thinking, he can tell right away with the tiniest change in his lips. 

“I started feeling, er--” Kakashi’s voice is scratchy, and he takes a moment to dispel the sound of it. This leads to a wet, sick sounding cough that Iruka can’t help but wince at. “I think around last Sunday morning, though not not seriously until Monday. I must have caught the tail-end flu season,” he croaks, sounding distinctly miserable. 

Iruka bites his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “Okay,” Iruka nods after a moment, squaring his shoulders. “When did you start running such a high fever?” 

Kakashi considers the question with an insane amount of concentration. “Don’t remember,” he admits finally. 

“That’s okay,” Iruka amends, and stands. He stares at the door of Kakashi’s bedroom, where all of Kakashi’s dogs have gathered and decided to sit and watch from. Pakkun, with his large dark eyes, looks as worried as a dog can manage. Iruka feels his heart constrict painfully, before he turns to Kakashi. “Alright, let’s get you undressed.” 

Kakashi stiffens. His once droopy, sick softened eyes are wide with panic and Iruka feels bad but only just. 

“Not like that,” Iruka huffs a laugh, and steps into Kakashi’s space again. When Iruka threads his fingers through the fringe covering his eyes and pushes it back, Kakashi’s shoulders lose some of their tension. “Your shirt is nearly soaked through with sweat. You’ll sleep better in some fresh clothes.” 

“Maa, sensei,” Kakashi’s lips curl, and Iruka is sure he’s trying to seem sauve. Which he isn’t, because Iruka spots dried drool on the edge of Kakashi’s mouth, nearing that adorable little mole on the left side of his mouth. “If you wanted to see me naked--” 

Iruka places a hand over Kakashi’s mouth, feeling grateful that Kakashi’s reflexes are dimmed enough for Iruka to stop the rest of that sentence. 

“Don’t finish that,” Iruka warns and drops his hand. He attempts to send Kakashi a withering look, though he knows his attempt failed when Kakashi just offers him a suggestive smile. Or an approximation of one. It’s hard to tell what Kakashi wants the look to mean when his eyes are shiny as if they are on the verge of tears and his nose is a violent shade of rubbed red. Tenderness grips Iruka’s heart and he clamps down on it; it wouldn’t do to be giving in so quickly to Kakashi’s demands. “Now, be quiet.” 

“Yes, sensei.” Kakashi is quiet and easily maneuvered after that. So much so, that Iruka manages to keep the flush to just the tops of his cheeks. Strictly business, Iruka thinks. No funny business, no nonsense. 

As he takes off Kakashi’s socks, the man wiggles his toes and tickles the inside of Iruka’s wrist with a half clothed foot that has Iruka suppressing a laugh by biting the inside of his cheek. 

After deciding it would be best to let Kakashi take off his own pants, Iruka struggles to take off his white button down. It’s only mildly embarrassing. Kakashi doesn’t make it easy, feigning fatigue so that Iruka has to do all the work. Each button pops open and when Iruka gets to the bottom one, Kakashi just stares at him and offers no witty commentary, his face carefully devoid of any expression. Iruka can’t even tell if the flush is from his fever or if it’s from--whatever else Kakashi could be thinking. Iruka isn’t sure what he should make out of that, so instead of saying anything that might prove to be later mortifying, he turns and busies himself with finding some fresh clean clothes in Kakashi’s closet. 

Really, he should make Kakashi change his sheets as well, considering how sweaty he’d made his clothing. A question is poised on his tongue before Kakashi cuts him off. 

“I should have some clothes in the top few drawers to the right,” Kakashi drawls laboriously from the bed, his voice sounding thicker than it had before, and Iruka hears the cloth of his shirt hit the floor rather than sees it. It’s as he’s pulling out the proffered drawer that Kakashi speaks again, as if an afterthought. “Though, that’s not necessary, sensei. I usually sleep naked.” 

Iruka scoffs, his train of thought effectively derailed. “You’ll get chilled,” he argues sternly, and wills away the damn blush in his cheek. Thankfully, his back is still turned to Kakashi so he’s spared Kakahsi’s infuriating self-satisfied smile. 

“Ah!” Kakashi's voice pitches higher in obvious delight, and says: “That’s where you come in, sensei. You’ll be my nursemaid for tonight, right? You’ll have to join me in the bed, of course--” 

“Kakashi!” Iruka half-shouts before he can think better of the volume of his voice. He breathes out slowly through his nose and attempts to quell the embarrassed flush that has climbed onto his high cheekbones, and rounds on his boyfriend while still half inside the closet. He’s got one fist strangling an unoffending particle of clothing and the other pointing menacingly at Kakashi. “You’re sick! This isn’t a joke. Stop saying stuff like that.” 

“But--” Kakashi has the audacity to look genuinely sad. 

Another deep breath. “You’re sick,” he insists with an exhale. When Iruka turns back around, he yanks open the dresser drawer with a little more force than necessary and retrieves a pair of loose fitting pants and the first shirt that were sitting on the top of the stack of well-worn clothes. “Those books have completely rotted your brain. You should be focusing on getting better-- not trying to trick me into participating in one of those trashy scenes you consider high literature!” 

Kakashi wilts. Shoulders sagging and the little smile he’d been wearing dying slowly, dispelling in tiny curled edges. Only marginally mortified, Iruka fights the urge to backpedal and shakes the thought away. The longer he looks at the sad, sick version of Kakashi, the longer he stares at the pursed frown and deep set bruising under his eyes, the more he feels his frustration fall away in sodden pieces. Iruka can hardly even tell if Kakashi’s truly depressed by his refusal or if he just doesn’t have the energy to be the bastard Iruka’s grown so used to and fond of. 

There’s a tiny little mutinous part of his brain that wants to just give in, to just do the silly things Kakashi wants him to. Wants to because he’s not used to this Kakashi; the Kakashi that is strangely quiet, the Kakashi that makes no quips to Iruka’s exasperated scolding, the Kakashi’s whose teasing is easily placated. It’s only muscle memory that keeps him from giving in, keeps him from faltering in his resolve. 

So he holds on tight, and wants desparately to help Kakashi ride this out. He wouldn’t be able to do that if he got so worked up. 

Iruka releases another breath, loosening the tension he carries in his back. He steps out into the bedroom again, walking up to Kakashi to stand between his legs. From this close and without the hindrance of his shirt, Iruka really can feel the fever coming off of him. Steadying his eyes on Kakashi’s, Iruka refuses to sneak a peek at Kakashi’s exposed chest--even if he does see a few little dark freckles below his neckline that his finger’s itch to trace. 

“How’s this: you get changed, and then I’ll get into the bed--” Kakashi’s eyes brighten, his slouch straightening so quickly Iruka marvels that his spine doesn’t snap. “ _ Over _ the covers. You need to rest.”

Kakashi deflates again. “You shouldn’t get a man’s hopes up like that,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out. 

Iruka laughs, endeared despite himself. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. He bends to put Kakashi’s fresh clothes on the bed, ignoring certain wandering eyes and the way Kakashi’s clumsy, sick body has managed to finger the clothing at his knee without him noticing. 

“My, my, sensei,” Kakashi grins, completely unrepentant. “Are you going to dress up like--” 

Before he can finish, Iruka takes Kakashi’s cheeks and pinches them between his fingers. Kakashi looks quite cute like this, too. A little pucker fish, blinking up slowly at Iruka through dark wet eyelashes. “Finish that question, Kakashi-san, and you’ll never find out.” 

As per usual, that shuts Kakashi up. Kakashi could dish it out as much as he wanted, but he still couldn’t take it. Not even all the weeks they’d been dating had changed that. 

Deciding to spare him, Iruka drops his hand to Kakashi’s shoulders and smiles easily down at this profoundly silly man before him. The palms of his hands fit here, Iruka thinks, against the heat of Kakashi’s skin. “Do you think you can manage to get dressed while I make a call?” 

Kakashi looks at the pile of clothing Iruka placed on the bed, the gears in his head seemingly moving slower than normal. “I’m an invalid--” he says after a moment, and then continues when he returns his gaze at Iruka. His eyes are big and glossy and near pleading, glistening with delicate unshed tears. Iruka’s always a bit amazed at how easily he flips the switch between bastard and brat the way he does, and now is no exception. He gestures down at his pants before looking at Iruka with deceivingly innocent eyes. “I think I’ll need you to help me out of the rest of these sweaty, restrictive clothes--” 

Iruka snorts. “If you feel well enough to be a pervy bastard, I don’t think I have anything to worry about,” he teases gently. “It’ll only be a few minutes.”

Not bothering to see the pout Kakashi’s undoubtedly sporting, Iruka drops a kiss on the top of Kakashi’s head before taking leave to the kitchen. A quick call to the Uchiha’s, and Iruka is relieved when Mikoto agrees to let Naruto spend the night instead of getting picked up later. Now that he knows his kid won’t be getting into that much trouble, he can devote his time to helping Kakashi. Before returning to Kakashi’s bedroom, Iruka fills a tall glass of water and grabs an apple from the bowl of fruit Kakashi always keeps stocked by his fridge and a knife from the drawer, as well as a few napkins. 

When he steps back into Kakashi’s room, he’s grateful to see that Kakashi has at least managed to get dressed, though he looks decidedly adorable with his hair sticking up in fifty different directions. The pout he wore before is still firmly in place as he stares at his hands, which are laying palm up in his lap, flexing and unflexing like restless birds. The dogs are still close by, so Iruka sidesteps a few of them where they are laying down in the immediate area surrounding Kakashi on the bed. 

“Kakashi,” Iruka greets when he steps into Kakashi’s eyeline, placing the items he’d grabbed from the kitchen on Kakashi’s nightstand. Wordlessly, Kakashi meets his gaze and attempts to stand. “Ah, not so fast,” he scolds half-heartedly. “Come on, back in the bed.” 

Iruka guides him from there under the heavy blankets and nudges him more towards the middle of the bed so that he can comfortably sit on the side. Kakashi snuggles in closer before heaving a sigh against the white of Iruka’s shirt. He’d have to change the sheets in the morning, when Kakashi hopefully has more strength and can be moved to the couch. Gingerly, Iruka places the back of his hand against Kakashi’s forehead, stamping out the tiny trickle of concern when it’s evident Kakashi has not yet broken his fever. 

“Need something to help with the fever,” Iruka mumbles to himself, huffing softly through his nose. “Have you eaten today?” 

Kakashi shrugs, expression meek. 

“Of course not.” Iruka grabs the apple and knife from the nightstand, before peeling and cutting the fruit into sections. “Let’s see if you can keep something down.” 

Kakashi’s docile and quiet after that. Iruka feeds him more than half of the apple before he shyly requests some water, and then he dozes off against Iruka’s stomach, one of his fists clinging to the fabric of Iruka’s shirt. The other pieces of the apple are left to brown on the nightstand as Iruka stares at the back of Kakashi’s head, his fingers gently tracing along Kakashi’s spine, thumbing the divets of his bones and finding them fitting together like a near perfect puzzle. Iruka almost gets lost in the cadence of Kakashi’s breathing, how his breath expands in his lungs and chest and in turn against Iruka’s palm. 

Shaking himself from the rhythmicity of Kakashi’s breathing, Iruka turns off the bedside lamp. The room is plunged into a milky sort of darkness, save only by the half-drawn curtains adjacent to Kakashi’s bed. Moonlight appears on Kakashi’s hair, his skin, both of which are only what Iruka can compare with reverence to starlight, glowing and incandescent in the low lighting. Iruka breathes out slowly, letting the weight and warmth of Kakashi’s body erase the unease that has been steadily growing since he left the restaurant. There isn’t a reason to worry, Iruka knows, though he is a worrier, a self-diagnosed fusser of the highest degree. And not only that, but Iruka’s mind is now left to wonder what Kakashi was planning to do all by himself. 

Logically Iruka knows that Kakashi is some sort of genius; he would have been capable of taking care of himself. He would have bounced back by Monday, and never would have uttered a word about the ordeal to anyone. This is somehow worse; the idea of Kakashi shouldering this suffering alone, not even mentioning it to anyone. Iruka wants to yell him for it, even if that hasn’t happened, even if Iruka is here now to clip that sort of stubbornness in the bud. 

From what Iruka has been able to piece together, Kakashi has been alone long enough to have gained some sort of survival instincts-- him being alive is a testament to that fact. This only makes that gnawing ache within Iruka’s chest even more impossible to ignore. Just because Kakashi is okay with being alone, is okay with handling things alone, is okay with simply surviving alone, that doesn’t mean that Iruka has to be. It would be against his nature to leave Kakashi alone now, even if he wanted to. 

He doesn’t want to, though. It is a simple fact that Iruka has been coming to terms with for months, if not years. 

And at a base level, it is selfishness that keeps Iruka firmly planted in place beside Kakashi now. Kakashi may be happy to survive like this, but Iruka cannot stand the thought of it. Thinking about Kakashi, alone and sweating out a fever in this big empty house leaves Iruka achy. So he will stay, and he will watch over, and he will take care of Kakashi. 

It isn’t until Pakkun climbs the ramp Kakashi has just for him and onto the bed, flopping down next to Kakashi on his other side that Iruka thinks to check the time. It’s already nearly eleven, and any of the convenience stores that would sell the medicine that Kakashi needs to get through the night without waking probably wouldn’t be open for much longer. Iruka entertains the idea of looking through the cupboard in Kakashi’s bathrooms, before he dispels the thought almost just as quickly. Snooping through any part of Kakashi’s house left a bitter taste in the back of Iruka’s mouth. 

To the convenience store it is. 

Extracting himself from Kakashi proves to be difficult. After the first attempt, Kakashi had made an unhappy little noise, and held tighter against Iruka’s shirt. The little whimper had been the most pathetic Kakashi's ever sounded, and jostled Iruka so severely that he had to actively attempt to control the anxious spike in his heart. The next attempt, Iruka comes prepared with a pillow stolen from the other side of the bed, and maneuvers the pillow so that it rests underneath Kakashi’s head. Iruka combats any unhappy Kakashi noises by shushing him gently, running his hand down Kakashi’s back, over his head and his cheeks. 

It takes several minutes, but finally Iruka is able to stand and smooths his shirt over his stomach in an attempt to flatten any of the wrinkles that Kakashi’s sweaty hand had caused. All the while he stares at the figure sleeping in front of him. How Kakashi managed to look so disarmingly small and young under all of those covers was beyond Iruka. 

He almost didn’t even look like himself; any of the fake sharp edges he uses during the day falling away and leaving this sleepsoft and snoring man instead. There was a gentleness to his features that was lost in his wake that Iruka wished he could commit to memory, take a snapshot to preserve forever in his mind. 

“I’ll be right back,” Iruka whispers into the semi-darkness, and tears his eyes off of Kakashi long enough to leave the room, leaving the door cracked enough that if the dogs wanted they’d be able to leave. 

Once out into the hall, Iruka releases an unsteady breath before he makes his way to the front door, puts on his shoes, grabs Kakashi’s house keys and sets off to the store.

It’s ten minutes to closing when Iruka’s car pulls up to the little convenience store that doubles as a gas station. Advertisements for all kinds of alcohol and drinks and snacks line the windows, and one of the neon lights advertising booze is winking in and out of existence. The young man behind the counter looks a little like Naruto’s friend Choji, with a similar rounded face that hasn’t quite lost its baby fat. Sparing any spoken acknowledgement, Iruka only nods his head towards him before making his way to the aisle he knows will have the medicine. 

Iruka skims the shelves, and grabs a few different night and day time medicines, as well as a package of throat soothing lozenges and a bottle of analgesic pills before moving on to the sparse food section of the store. There isn’t much in stock that Iruka thinks he could get Kakashi to eat, save for a package of bland crackers and some nutrition bars, both of which he grabs. He would have to get someone to do some shopping for him tomorrow to get something more hearty for when Kakashi is feeling up to it tomorrow (and Asuma  _ does  _ owe him one), or raid the man’s pantry in hopes that it's stocked up. Though knowing Kakashi, Iruka thinks he probably has something he can scrape together. 

Iruka cashes out with one minute to close, and offers a weak goodnight to the clerk behind the counter, who offers no comment in return. 

The drive back to Kakashi’s is almost as painful as the one earlier; Iruka speeds along a little faster, and swerves into Kakashi’s driveway so hard that the items in the front seat almost spill onto the floor. 

Once inside, Iruka takes off his shoes and flicks on a few of the lights. All of the dogs are staring at him from the hallway that leads to Kakashi, all of them looking despondent and downcast. Fingers clenching around the bag in his hand, Iruka debates on whether or not he should let them out. If they’d been fed, and Iruka is sure they would be since Kakashi wouldn’t just let them starve even if he was sick out of his mind, then they needed to be let out. 

“Alright,” Iruka breathes to himself, and then stalks over to the side door he’s seen Kakashi use a handful of times to let the dogs into the yard. He flicks on the flood lights, and the room dimly illuminated by the yellowed lighting. 

Kakashi had taught him a handful of commands, all of which were met with perfect obedience thus far and are a testament to Kakashi’s training. The dogs, though, seem preoccupied with their owner and don’t even notice Iruka at the door. Mustering as much authority and sternness in his voice as possible, Iruka says “ _ come _ ”. 

The worry had been misplaced it seemed, as each of the dogs scramble to where Iruka is. Iruka can’t get the door open fast enough; just as he’s gotten the thing unstuck Uhei weasels out of the small opening and all of them follow suit. Iruka opens the door wider when Bull looks up at him with droopy eyes and he can’t contain his huff of little laughter as the dog barrels out the door, second to last. 

Pakkun still hasn’t moved. 

“Pakkun,” Iruka crouches down, and extends his hand to where the dog is still sitting in the mouth of the hallway. “Pakkun, come.”

Iruka contemplates walking over and picking the stubborn dog up himself when Pakkun finally hefts himself from his place on the floor and waddles to the door, manicured paws clicking against the wood floor.

Iruka watches the dogs, cutting little shadows across the lawn in the floodlight, before he tears his eyes away and makes it back to Kakashi’s bedroom. 

“‘ruka?” Kakashi’s voice is sleep-roughed and his hair has flattened onto one side again. He lifts his head, squinting at Iruka when he steps inside. 

“Yes, I’m here,” Iruka soothes in a whisper, and places the bag of supplies he’d gotten on the floor beside Kakashi’s bed before taking a seat. He debates on turning on the lamp again, though decides against it. He can see enough by just the hall light, and this way the brightness won’t agitate Kakashi even more. Hopefully he’d be able to fall asleep after taking something to relieve his fever. 

Kakashi moves closer then, one hand probing underneath the blanket to find the bottom of Iruka’s shirt. He makes a garbled sort of whimper before lurching forward and taking it upon himself to put his face in Iruka’s thigh. It takes a few moments but Iruka then registers that Kakashi’s continued muffled garbling isn’t actually nonsense at all. 

“Kakashi,” Iruka begins, his voice still just a whisper as it was before. Somehow he thinks that speaking any louder will disrupt this scene even more, will make it shatter like glass across the floor. “What was that? I can’t quite hear you.” 

Kakashi is still for a moment before lifting his face out of the fabric of Iruka’s clothes. Tiny flecks of light are being illuminated in his eyes, and Iruka has to hold his breath, because Kakashi is beautiful, even now. Even laid up with this god awful fever. Kakashi is always surprising him when he least expects it. It is always moments like this, when Iruka thinks he’s gotten used to looking at his uncovered face that Iruka’s slapped silly with just how gorgeous Kakashi is. 

“I said,” Kakashi enunciates with a slight slur, still addled with sleep. “I thought I dreamt you. That you were here. I woke up and you were gone, but now you’re here again.” Kakashi’s lip curls--just so, it’s barely even a smile-- and Iruka feels like he’s bursting, Kakashi’s words catching him off guard in the most splendid and terrifying and Kakashi way possible. 

And then the moment slips away, as Kakashi reburies himself in Iruka’s clothes. Running solely on muscle memory, Iruka slips his hand into Kakashi’s hair, firmly pressing his fingers into his scalp. Naruto is a bit like this when he’s ill too, Iruka thinks, as he buries his fingers deeper into Kakashi’s hair, scratching behind his ears to the crown of his head to the base of his neck. 

“That’s nice,” Kakashi says after a few minutes, and sighs deeply against Iruka’s leg. The sleepiness has gone from his voice, replaced with an unhurried thoughtfulness. He’s about to say something when Kakashi speaks again, this time much quieter: “My father used to do this when I was still a kid.” 

Iruka’s hand stops involuntarily. This is the first time Kakashi’s brought up his father, much less been forthcoming about his childhood. 

“Ah, sorry. Please don’t stop,” Kakashi says when Iruka’s silence fills the room. Iruka can just barely feel the outline of Kakashi’s straight nose against his thigh.

“Oh, baby,” Iruka manages after another tense moment. His throat feels tight, thick with a scalding emotion. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  
And he begins to stroke Kakashi’s hair with his fingers that are shaking, his knuckles clattering together as he silently wishes away Kakashi’s aching. A contented sigh escapes through Kakashi’s parted lips and Iruka resists the urge to exhale a sob, like his body desperately wants to. Hot pin pricks are burning behind his eyelids, so much so that Iruka clenches his eyes shut and wills the tears away. 

It’d be an impossibility to deny the feeling now, the one that he ignored before, has ignored for weeks, months, years. An impossibility to convince himself that Kakashi hasn’t become a precious person. An impossibility to deny that somehow Kakashi’s pain, all of it that lurks beneath his composed and meticulously crafted surface, isn’t one that Iruka now feels keenly as if it were his own. 

His father, Iruka knows, has not been around for a long time and was Kakashi’s last parent. Iruka doesn't know how long Kakashi’s been fending by himself, but he’s determined to make whatever mishap this week is the last one. 

They stay in that position until Iruka remembers the bag at his feet. Kakashi’s not yet asleep, his breathing still labored and uneven enough for Iruka to know for sure. 

“Kakashi,” Iruka’s voice breaks the tiny bubble, and Kakashi stirs before remaining still. “You need medicine.” 

Kakashi groans. “Don’t wanna,” he sighs petulantly. 

Iruka leans over Kakashi’s body, attempting to see his face. “Come on,” Iruka urges gently, and uses one hand to move the hair out of Kakashi’s eyes and off his cheeks. His skin is feverish still, warm to the touch and slightly clammy. “It will make you feel better.” 

“I feel great,” Kakashi says with an air of bravado that Iruka certainly does not believe. 

Iruka’s lips twist against his will. “No, you don’t. Once you take your medicine we can both go to bed.” 

“Maa,” Kakashi starts, and begins to peel himself away from Iruka’s warmth to sit up. “This isn’t how I imagined you spending the night here for the first time.” 

Iruka doesn’t argue that this isn’t  _ technically  _ the first time he spent the night here; he slept against Kakashi’s chest all night after their first date. 

“Ah,” Iruka gives in and grins. “And how exactly did you imagine it?” 

Kakashi twists and looks Iruka in the eye, squinting just enough that Iruka can almost picture steam rising up from his ears. 

“I’ll tell you in detail later,” Kakashi decides after a moment of tense consideration. He sighs laboriously. “However, I can tell you this much right now: it was supposed to be much more romantic than this.” 

Iruka lifts a hand and pushes Kakashi’s wayward bangs out of his face, then cups his flushed cheek with a half-contained smile. “What’s more romantic than tending to you at your bedside?” Iruka teases. 

“I can think of quite a few things you’d probably enjoy more than this,” Kakashi says, an odd sounding glumness to his voice. Iruka can’t quite tell if it’s the fever or himself properly blushing anymore-- though it’s likely to just be a mixture of both. “I was going to sweep you off your feet.  _ Properly _ .” 

Iruka can’t help it, he giggles and quickly covers his mouth with his hand. It’s no use, though, because Kakashi catches it, his eyebrow’s creasing. 

“And how  _ did  _ you plan to sweep me off my feet?” Iruka raises both hands this time, pressing his thumbs beneath the redness of Kakashi’s eyes, then running one over the raised skin under his left eye, while the other sliding back to cup the sharp juncture of Kakashi’s jaw. 

Kakashi’s eyes fall shut, as he nuzzles into the warmth of Iruka’s palms. “Are you trying to learn all my secrets while I’m incapacitated, Iruka-sensei?” Kakashi rasps, his mouth moving gently against the sensitive skin inside of Iruka’s wrist. He opens his eyes only to scrutinize Iruka with an indolent, half-lidded glare. “How nefarious of you.”

Iruka huffs a surprised laugh. “Well, I’d say since these secrets involve both myself and the act of wooing, I’d say I have the right to know them,” he argues, mind drifting slightly as Kakashi’s breath continues to ghosts across his skin. 

“In due time,” is all Kakashi says, thick with an air of mystery that Iruka still can’t help being exasperatedly intrigued by. 

“If you say so,” Iruka begins, still barely succeeding in being uncharmed by the sick man sitting in front of him. He lets his hands fall to his lap, only for Kakashi to thread their fingers together a second later. “Though, I still need to get you to take some medicine.” 

Kakashi releases a sigh, head tilting back and all. “As you wish, sensei. I am in your hands after all.” 

“Exactly!” Iruka’s smile comes easily now, and he pulls his hand away to grab the bag on the ground, ignoring another irritated puff of air from Kakashi at the loss of contact. He rummages around for a moment before pulling out the nighttime medicine. After fighting with the packaging for a few moments, Iruka finally pops two of the gel pills into his palm. “I figured you’d take to the pills better than the liquid stuff.” 

Kakashi hums. “You’d be right,” he murmurs, and takes the two pills and swallows them dry. He motions weakly to the nightstand, though Iruka’s already grabbed the half drunk water from before.

Kakashi finishes off the rest of the water in a few gulps, then hands it to Iruka before flopping back onto his pillows. He struggles to pull the comforter from under Iruka and then gives up, his breathing still a little heavy. Already he looks a bit winded, a bit like he feels more sick than he’s willing to let Iruka in on. 

Placing the medicine back on the nightstand and picking up the empty glass, Iruka stands. “I’ll be right back, okay? I have to go let the dogs in,” he says, and bends over to drop a kiss atop the crown of Kakashi’s head. “Be good.” 

“No promises,” Kakashi rasps from his place against his many pillows. 

Iruka leaves Kakashi and makes his way to the living room, easily navigating between Kakashi’s spartan furniture. All of the dogs are waiting patiently by the door, seemingly eager to come back inside. Again, Iruka is struck with just how much these dogs adore Kakashi, and how much his lack of energy and ill feeling must be affecting them too. 

Once Iruka’s opened the sliding glass, all of the dogs enter in a stampede that has Iruka stepping out of the way. They barrel into the house, no doubt into Kakashi’s room so they can check on him. Iruka feels himself grinning, a tiny part of him relieved to acknowledge that Kakashi hadn’t been wholly alone after all. 

“Come along, Pakkun,” Iruka says, just as the old dog trots inside. Pakkun gives him a wet looking stare before following his brothers and sisters down the hall, leaving Iruka alone to shut and lock the door. Iruka flicks off the flood lights, before taking Kakashi’s empty water glass and filling it. 

A low grumble disturbs Iruka’s trek back to Kakashi’s room, as he belatedly realizes he’d neglected to feed himself anything. The last proper meal he had was half eaten salad and a handful of nuts at lunch that same day. Iruka grumbles all the way back to the kitchen, where he grabs one of the meal replacement bars out of Kakashi’s cabinet-- the polite part of his brain rebelling against eating it at all without being offered first. Saving himself the trouble of explaining to Kakashi that he’d forgotten to eat, Iruka eats the bar in a few large bites before washing it down with a glass of water. 

The protein bar is as unsatisfying as he initially thought it would be. But still, his own satisfaction and comfort isn’t exactly his main priority at this moment. Kakashi is still sitting alone in his room, probably buried underneath a mountain of dog and blanket. 

It’s not until Iruka is making his way back to Kakashi’s room for the second time, that his body finally aches with the beginnings of fatigue. His normal ten o’clock bedtime long passed, the emotional marathon since the restaurant finally taking its inevitable toll. 

Just as Iruka suspected, Kakashi’s dozing off against his pile of pillows when Iruka finally steps inside. Bull, Uhei, and Akino are laying sporadically on the floor surrounding Kakashi’s bed. Iruka has to toe around them, careful not to step on any stray tails or paws or ears. 

Kakashi doesn’t say anything, but Iruka knows he’s watching him lazily as he places the fresh water down. Iruka struggles with keeping his blush down, and ultimately fails as he unbuttons the top two buttons of his white shirt, and unrolls his sleeves. Again, it’s not ideal to sleep in, but he doesn’t want to bother Kakashi by asking him for something to sleep in. 

Alright, Iruka thinks, as he finally slips under the covers. There’s no use in pretending like Kakashi wouldn’t somehow sneak him under the blankets during the night anyway, sick or not. 

A small rumbling acknowledgement is made by Kakashi as he weasels closer, eager to leech off Iruka’s warmth. The jagged and bony part of Kakashi’s shoulder jabs into Iruka’s stomach-- but he can’t find it in himself to care. Scooting himself further down the bed, Iruka eventually removes the bone from his side and props Kakashi’s head on his bicep, already having wormed an arm around the other man only moments before. 

Fresh and tender is that moment from minutes before, and Iruka threads his fingers through Kakashi’s hair whilst willing away the familiar burn behind his eyes. 

It feels nice-- to lay so closely to Kakashi. To touch him so casually and be touched in return. This thing between them --still new and delicate and precious-- only feels more unavoidable and inevitable, the longer Iruka is weighed down by Kakashi’s wiry head on his arm, is tickled by the messy strands of Kakashi’s hair beneath his chin. It only feels more important to be here with him-- to share with him this tender a moment. 

If it had been under different, less snotty circumstances, Iruka knows he would feel less guilty for enjoying the silence of this shared moment. Still thinly threaded with tight lines of anxiety, it is again the sound of Kakashi’s breathing, the rhythm of his pulse on Iruka’s arm, the weight of his arm thrown across Iruka’s stomach that loosens all of Iruka’s tightlined tremors. 

“Hey,” Kakashi mumbles into Iruka’s shirt sometime later, gently pulling Iruka out of a half sleep, half wake state. “Iruka.” 

Iruka pulls him closer, threads a hand into Kakashi’s hair at an awkward angle. 

“Hi,” Iruka whispers. He’s feeling blissfully warm, and impossibly comfortable even in his old dinner attire. Counting the steady beat of Kakashi’s heart is having the same effect as counting sheep. 

“I just,” Kakakshi starts after a moment of silence, his voice coated with what Iruka now knows as self-consciousness. Another slow minute passes before Kakashi continues, with a breath of hot air against Iruka’s neck. “Nevermind. Goodnight, sensei.” 

Pulling him closer, infinitely closer, Iruka places a kiss on the crown of Kakashi’s head. They’d have other moments to say what was being left unsaid, anyway. “Try to get some sleep, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Hours later Iruka wakes with a jolt.    
  


“What! What is it,” he half-shouts, his leg already thrown out of the bed. The thrumming of his heart beats painfully against his sternum as he checks the room, searching out Naruto’s silhouette in the dark . 

“Not so loud, sensei,” comes a very not-Naruto sounding whine, and it’s then that Iruka’s sleep clouded mind clears. 

Iruka rubs the sleep from his eyes before squinting in Kakashi’s general direction in the semi-darkness, who is obviously no longer plastered to his side. “Kakashi?” It’s still dark out, but Iruka faintly hears the beginning of birdsong, so it must be near morning. “What are you doing?” 

“Bathroom,” Kakashi says, a groggy sick sound still clinging to the edges of his voice. 

With his eyes finally adjusted, Iruka can see as Kakashi sways towards the door, the hallway light cutting his shadow stark against the darkness of the room. Iruka barely has enough time to untangle himself from the covers to catch him by the elbow. 

“Easy now,” Iruka warns gently. Kakashi’s body is warm where Iruka wraps an arm around his waist, a dampness sticking his shirt to his back. Kakashi makes no other sounds, but leans heavily onto Iruka as they make their way to the bathroom. 

Iruka is about to join Kakashi in the bathroom when he places a weak fist to his stomach. “I’ll be okay,” Kakashi mumbles, and closes the door on Iruka’s nose. Iruka curbs the urge to protest by biting his tongue and breathing deeply out through his nose. Instead he stares at the wood of the door and listens closely to see if Kakashi stumbles or needs his help. 

When Kakashi swings the door open, Iruka surveys his face to see if there is any lingering pallor to Kakashi’s skin. 

“How are you feeling?” Iruka finds himself asking, a worried tinge slicing through his voice. In the very least, it seems like color is returning to Kakashi’s cheeks after a solid couple hours of sleep. Any lingering undereye bags nearly unnoticeable until Iruka peers closer. 

“Much better, sensei,” Kakashi’s eyes curve, and Iruka finds the tightness in his shoulders easing. “You make an adept nursemaid. Very attentive.” 

Iruka only huffs, caught somewhere exasperation and fondness, and ushers them both back to the bedroom, through which Kakashi is blessedly silent for.

Kakashi drifts to sleep quickly after that-- his head resting not on Iruka’s chest but a pillow Iruka flipped so that it wasn’t dank with his sweat. Iruka is still tight with anxiety, stick-straight as he watches the rise and fall of Kakashi’s chest. Seconds collect into minutes and soon the blue glow of dawn is melting the room’s darkness. While he is faintly relieved that Kakashi slept through most of the night, Iruka’s still not sure how much longer he’ll be able to tend to him. 

Again, his eyes trail up Kakashi’s loose collared shirt towards his face, with his mouth partly opened and the straight line of his perfect nose and the tiny freckle on the side of his mouth all distracting him for a moment too long. Iruka feels the prickling of blush on his neck before he turns the bedside table and reaches blindly for his phone. 

He can’t be thinking about just how worried he is  _ still  _ or he will go insane. 

There are a few texts, all from his friends asking about the date last night. There seems to be quite a few colorful worded and descriptive ones from Anko that he scrolls past with a snort in favor of opening his texts with Asuma. 

**< I need a favor.>** Iruka bites his lip, frowning slightly when he squints at the time on his phone. It’s almost seven, so it’s not  _ that  _ early. No recent conversations come to mind about Asuma’s weekend plans, so Iruka only worries his lip slightly at the thought of waking his brother up. 

Iruka doesn’t have to wait long. He’s staring at the planes of Kakashi’s perfect jaw when his phone vibrates in his lap.  **_< Good morning to you too> _ ** Iruka doesn’t have time to huff before there’s another text popping up on his screen. **_ <What’s up little brother of mine> _ **

For a painful second, Iruka just stares at his phone. He’s going to have to tell Asuma more or less why he can’t pick up his kid and he simply would rather do anything else.  **< I need you to pick Naruto up for me from the Uchihas later. I told Mikoto I’d get him around 12.> ** He finally types after a terse minute of debating with himself if this conversation is even worth it, or if he should have just texted Anko; she would have at least put him out of his misery quickly. Kakashi stirs next to him, making an unhappy little noise from the back of his throat.  **< And I need you to drop me off some clothes.> ** Iruka sends the text and then another and forces himself to think about literally anything else.  **< And I need the ingredients to make rice porridge.> **

**_< Drop off clothes?? Where the fuck are you> _**Iruka groans inwardly. It was so much more painful this way; Asuma’s texts reek with insinuation. He already knows what’s coming even before another text lights up his screen. **_< Ohhhhh. You had that date with Hatake last night. I think I see what’s going on ;)> _**

Cheeks aflame, Iruka types the text with more fervor than is warranted.  **< You really don’t and I am going to kick your ass for that insinuation.> **

It’s almost as if Iruka can feel the smugness coming off of Asuma, even over text. It’s infuriating and reminds Iruka too much of the old man’s smile. The knowing one he’d use to give Iruka over the brim of his tea cup. **_< You haven’t been able to kick my ass since you were like nine> _**

**< Asuma, we all know I could kick your ass now since you’ve gone all soft.> ** Iruka doesn’t allow himself to the satisfaction of the reply (realy, Iruka didn’t know anyone more whipped than Asuma) before sending another, patiently impatient text.  ** <Anyway, are you going to help me or not?>**

Iruka is worrying the skin on his thumb on his teeth when Asuma finally texts back.  ** <** **_Help me out, he says. As if he doesn’t just want me to be his little errand boy. But fine, I’ll do anything for my favorite little brother. > _ ** Iruka is holding his breath when another text comes through, and releases it with what feels like a gut punch.  **_< Well, I can do anything for the right price.> _ **

Iruka feels a piece of his soul wither away-- his mind quickly flashing through a series of scenarios where Asuma is teasing him for having worried so fiercely over Kakashi, for sleeping over, for any sort of thing he could somehow twist into a punchline to make Iruka’s blood boil. He would be relentless, Iruka knows, but Kakashi’s worth it. Another little unhappy noise escapes Kakashi’s lips and he turns, blindly pushing his face into Iruka’s side. It takes all of Iruka not to coo at his sleeping, oddly angelic face. 

It is a small mercy that he wasn’t awake to raise Iruka’s blood pressure, too. 

His phone vibrates again, and Iruka sees that Asuma has sent him a series of emojis, all of which look mockingly pensive. Iruka physically restrains himself from telling Asuma he’s acting like an overgrown child, ‘cause seriously Asuma is pushing thirty. There is no reason for him to be acting  _ this  _ annoying. 

Reigning in the building fury, Iruka types the next text with little punches of his thumb. ** <And what’s that?> **

**_< You know exactly what I want.>_** Iruka wants to scream; Asuma is really going to make him say it all. 

**< You’re a terrible person and horrible older brother. I should have asked Daichi instead. He’s always been my favorite brother anyway.> **

Iruka pictures wrapping his hands around his brother’s throat and throttling him; not enough to kill him since Mirai and Kurenai seemed to like him, but enough to wipe the smirk off his silly little face.  **_< Oh you wound me Iruka> _ **

**< I think you’ll get over it.> **

**_< You aren’t acting like you want me to help you out> _ **

**< Fine! It’s a long story but Kakashi got sick or has been sick all week and I thought he stood me up last night so I went over to his house (to make sure he was okay!!!!!) and he was fine other than the fact that he literally looked like a corpse-- I’m serious Suma he looked half dead and so I stayed the night (please no jokes) and now I’m looking after him> ** Iruka’s fingers are shaking a little by the end of the text. Kakashi’s warmth and even breathing does little to quiet Iruka’s anxiety, but does quell it enough that he is able to send one last threatening message to his no good, conniving older brother.  ** <And if you tell your loose-lipped wife about this and it makes rounds at school Mirai will be the only progeny you ever produce, and that is a promise.> **

**_< Jeez.> _ ** At the prospect of being spared the embarrassment of being teased, Iruka releases a breath.  **_ <But still that sounds about right. That bastard would probably just suffer until he kicked the bucket> _ **

**< Not funny, and I know. He’s the worst> ** Iruka worries his bottom lip for a moment before sending another text.  **< He wasn’t going to tell me. I don’t think he realized how badly I worried about him when I sat at the restaurant waiting and didn’t hear from him.> ** He sends the text and then another in rapid succession.  **< I felt so relieved when I saw him standing there half dead in his doorway I wasn’t even mad about being stood up. Lol> **

**<** **_Hey, deep breaths kid. Hatake’s gonna be fine cuz he’s got you to look after him. And if he had stood you up for real I would have kicked his ass no questions > _ ** A tiny smile pulls on Iruka’s lips. Asuma wasn’t so terrible all the time. 

**< No offense, but Kakashi could probably take you. Even when he’s sick to death> ** Iruka shakes with silent laughter as a stream of broken hearts and angry faces light up his screen. 

**_< We just have to hope it never comes to that then huh> _ ** Iruka’s grin widens, effectively distracted for the time being and impossibly grateful for Asuma’s ability to look underneath the underneath. **_ <And don’t worry about the rest. I’ll handle it. Daichi’s brat has been wanting to see Naruto all week anyway and it just so happens that I told Konohamaru we could spend the day together. Give me Hatake’s address and I’ll drop off all the stuff you need before I get the both of them.> _ ** Iruka breathes out slowly and rescinds all the curses he’d been sending to the Ether at Asuma’s expense.  **_< Also, Kurenai says that you and I quote, ‘are in for it’ on monday. So good luck with that buddy> _ **

**< You are both leeches.> **

Iruka sends Asuma the address before extracting himself from Kakashi. After tiptoeing over and around the warm bodies littering Kakashi’s bedroom floor, Iruka manages to get to the bathroom without stepping on any stray paws or tails. Saving himself the trouble of having to get up from Kakashi again, Iruka busies himself around the house. He places Kakashi’s discarded bookbag in his office, and then rights the key hook by the door where Kakashi had knocked it askew the night before. Feeding the dogs and letting them out and letting them back in again, all the while wandering back to the bedroom to make sure Kakashi hadn’t gotten up suddenly and vanished. 

He’s puttering about in the kitchen when Asuma finally shows up no less than two hours from their previous conversation. Iruka whisper-yells into the quiet morning air while Asuma cackles at his expense, and doesn’t relent until Iruka promises to tell him the details later. 

And then he’s gone and Iruka is left alone again. 

Making use of the fresh clothes Asuma dropped off, Iruka changes in the bathroom and washes his face before heading to the kitchen to make rice porridge. The motions of the task are simple enough, and in no time Iruka has the rice and water simmering together on the stovetop, stirring occasionally while chewing the inside of his cheek. All of the time spent from his childhood watching his mom make it, along with how often Naruto got sick after he left the orphanage, all made Iruka master this dish. It’s one of the few things he can cook consistently without mistake.

It’s not as if Iruka can’t cook; he’s just clumsy at it. There have been many instances where he’s burnt himself on the rice cooker and had to guide Naruto through dressing his fingers and wrists, and on one unfortunate occasion, his foot. The memory of Naruto’s bright eyes hesitant and nervous eases the worry inside Iruka’s chest just enough that his lips twitch in a smile. Iruka stirs the rice carefully before deciding Kakashi probably wouldn’t care anyway. If Iruka’s the one feeding it to him, he’s sure Kakashi would eat anything. Iruka fusses over it all once more before putting the pot of porridge on the back burner on low to keep warm. 

Hours later Iruka is sitting cross legged on the floor and grading when he hears Kakashi stir from inside his bedroom. When he stands, his bones make creaky noises that he ignores in favor of flopping down on the couch to wait for Kakashi to emerge from the hall. 

He doesn’t have to wait long. Kakashi shuffles in moments later, looking sleep mussed and a red in the cheeks. One half of his hair has been plastered to the side of his head again, and Iruka’s affection rushes up inside him unbidden. He looks a little lopsided. 

“Good morning, Kakashi,” Iruka’s smile forms without his permission; Kakashi doesn’t look so sick anymore. There is a healthy flush to his cheek, and a brightness in his eyes that had been missing the night before. 

Kakashi grunts, his feet still shuffling him toward where Iruka is sitting on the couch. “Mornin’,” he mumbles as he slumps down onto the cushion, his head lolling onto Iruka’s shoulder immediately. 

Iruka’s hand raises to scratch the back of Kakashi’s head involuntarily. “How do you feel?” The question earns him a few mumbled words. “You look better than last night at least.” 

There is a moment of silence before Kakashi lifts his head and Iruka is faced with a look that he knows means trouble. “That’s because I have a pretty nur--” Iruka pinches the back of Kakashi’s neck before he can finish. “Sensei!” Kakashi reels back but not enough to go far, and Iruka’s hand falls from Kakashi’s neck and into his own lap. Kakashi’s hand then shoots up to rub at Iruka’s punishment, his eyes pinched together in a frown. 

“It was so blissfully quiet before,” Iruka spats, but he doesn’t mean it. “Maybe you should just go back to bed.” Kakashi’s house is too large for him to relax in, and even though Uhei and Bull came out to keep him company, Iruka couldn’t chase the odd sticky feeling that buried itself inside his chest at the thought of Kakashi staying in this lonely place all the time by himself. 

“This is patient abuse,” Kakashi shoots back, still looking a bit peeved. It seems like the pout is even genuine. Perhaps Iruka pinched him a little harder than he meant to. “I’ll file a medical malpractice suit against you.” 

Iruka’s laugh bubbles up without his permission. “Good luck finding a lawyer that will pick up your case. They’d spend a minute with you and throw you out on your ass.” 

“You underestimate me, sensei,” Kakashi drawls, his own hand dropping from his shoulder to thread their fingers together. His eyes linger on their intertwined fingers, and Iruka squeezes them before he thinks against it. “I can be charming when I want to be.” 

Iruka just huffs through his nose and decides this is an argument he’d end up losing. He was charmed by Kakashi afterall; despite all the precautionary measures he’d taken, Kakashi managed to worm his way directly into his chest. 

“I made something for you to eat,” Iruka says instead. “Rice porridge.” 

Kakashi stills and then lifts his head slowly. “You aren’t planning to finish me off, sensei, are you?” 

“Kakashi!’ Iruka shouts. Kakashi seems unperturbed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Kakashi just blinks slowly, giving him that look that Pakkun sometimes gets when he’s forced to do something Iruka suspects he thinks is stupid. It would be patronizing if it didn’t make the both of them look beady eyed and airheaded. “A little birdie-- er, a few birdies actually told me about a fiasco involving hot grease, a fire extinguisher, and a visit to the ER.” 

Iruka’s mouth gapes, a prickling, hot feeling creeping up his neck. He is going to kill Naruto and his bratty little friends. He’s not even all that surprised-- Sakura is an even worse gossip than Asuma and Kurenai  _ combined _ . She gave Tsunade a run for her money. 

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already,” Iruka snaps. “And besides,  _ you  _ underestimate  _ me _ . Poisoning you with food is way too obvious. If I were going to kill you, Kakashi-san, there would be no evidence. Because they would never find your body,” Iruka continues sweetly. 

Kakashi’s eyes widen before a blush creeps up his neck. “You’re so hard-hearted,” Kakashi begins, his eyes still large and dark and glossy. Iruka crushes the little voice in his head that insists they’re beautiful, in a peculiar Kakashi-sort-of-way. “Iruka, tell me, what happened to my sweet nursemaid from last night?” 

Iruka breathes deeply through his nose. “He’s gone. Perhaps when you find yourself delirious with fever again he’ll return. Until then it’s just me.” 

Kakashi smiles, his eyes curving with the motion of it. “It’s fortunate for me I like you the way you are then, isn’t it?” 

Iruka’s flush comes fast and leaves him faintly light-headed. Whenever Kakashi was brutally honest like that it left him winded. Always catching him off guard, leaving him unbalanced. 

“Sweet words don’t work on me,” Iruka insists weakly, though he knows it’s futile to try and hide just exactly how those words worked on him.

Kakashi tilts his head, and once again Iruka thinks of Pakkun, before he raises a hand and pokes Iruka in the cheek, right along the edge of his scar. “Hm. I don’t believe you.” 

“Whatever,” Iruka huffs and averts his gaze to the forgotten pile of papers he’d been grading on the table. “Do you want the food or not?” 

“Of course I do,” Kakashi insists a second later. 

“You were afraid I was poisoning you not even five minutes ago.” 

Kakashi shrugs. “To be killed in such a way wouldn’t be so bad. It’s almost romantic,” he remarks, a reflective tone to his voice that Iruka chooses not to think about. “And besides, you’ve convinced me that you’ve thought about killing me enough that you’d be smart about it. It’s best I behave from here on out lest I give you any more motivation to go through with it.” 

Iruka smiles, small, and lifts his eyes to rest again on Kakashi’s familiar features. He seems a little subdued, but still nothing like he was the night before. The meek Kakashi from last night was one that Iruka had never once thought would make an appearance, and he’s still not sure how it makes him feel. He much prefers Kakashi like this, exactly like this-- strange and silly and capable of making Iruka’s head spin with the way he shakes the foundation under Iruka’s feet. 

Giving Kakashi the bowl had been painful only for the fact that he insisted Iruka feed it to him like a toddler. His argument was given with a haughty declaration that since Iruka had fed him the apples before that he could certainly do this, too, and Iruka relented if only to keep Kakashi from being anymore excruciatingly embarrassing. Kakashi even insists that Iruka wipe his mouth, to which Iruka finds endearing against his will, seeing as Kakashi’s perfectly straight nose twitches like a bunny once he’s removed the napkin. Iruka’s not so hard-hearted to be unaffected. 

After Iruka eats his own bowl, he watches as Kakashi lays against the cushions, sated and sleepy, still looking much younger than Iruka’s ever seen him. He’s almost anticipating Kakashi’s request to stay in the same room as him. Silently pleased that he won’t have to get up and check on Kakashi through his next nap, Iruka tucks Kakashi under a mountain of blankets he’d retrieved from the linen closet and sits down on the floor adjacent to where Kakashi himself is laying. 

It’s only after Iruka has pulled his attention away from Kakashi and has picked up his grading, that he feels Kakashi’s gaze on him like a brush of his fingers. 

“Kakashi?” Iruka questions, but Kakashi just continues to stare at him, making the skin on his neck prickle. “Is there something wrong?” 

“S’nothing,” Kakashi mumbles, the words veiled from behind his cocoon of blankets. He continues to look at Iruka until admitting in a whisper, “I like to watch you work.” 

“Oh,” Iruka says dumbly, the skin along his neck and cheeks prickling in tandem. 

All that is visible are Kakashi’s two dark eyes, a tuft of white hair obscuring the top part of his scarred eyelid. Iruka’s chest tightens, anticipating Kakashi’s next words. “Would you come a little closer?” 

Iruka’s always been loath to deny Kakashi; the flimsy resolve he’d had months ago crumbling in mere seconds of his ears catching the tinge of quiet desperation in Kakashi’s voice. He moves closer, scooting until he can see the little flecks of light in Kakashi’s eyes, can count each individual eyelash. 

“Give me your hand,” Kakashi says then, and Iruka thinks it doesn’t sound so much like a demand as it does a plea. 

The angle is awkward but Iruka’s hand eventually finds Kakashi’s hand under the covers. Immediately Kakashi brings the both of them to his chest, and Iruka’s reminded of the night before, when he could feel the featherlight beat of Kakashi’s heart against his skin. 

Kakashi’s eyes fall shut. “Don’t let go.” 

Iruka’s own eyes burn, and he nods even though he knows Kakashi can’t see. Beyond a shadow of doubt Iruka now understands the scope of his own feeling-- because here before him, stretching out for miles under the blanket, is cause for the enduring affection that simmers in his chest. 

“I’ll keep holding your hand,” Iruka promises around a tight feeling in his throat. He leans in and kisses Kakashi’s forehead. “You get some rest.” 

***

Kakashi wakes slowly. He’s feeling pleasantly warm, loose limbed and better than he had since even before he’d come down with this nasty cold. The chill that had been residing underneath his skin having been chased away the night before by the warmth of a precious smile. 

When Kakashi peels his eyes open, he’s met with the sight of one Iruka Umino chewing on the end of a red pen, brow furrowed in concentration as he reads through a presumably difficult paper. He looks dreamy in a sort of way Kakashi’s come to associate only with Iruka-- all softened edges and easy, warm smiles. Dreamy, because Kakashi often thinks this thing between the two of them is too good to be true. A cruel dream is a dream Kakashi is painfully familiar with. Though, Kakashi’s come to realize that even if he spent the rest of his life trying, his mind would never be able to conjure up even in his dreaming someone with the same warmth and familiarity and intensity as Iruka. Every variation of Iruka that Kakashi has come to know has always been heaven sent and uniquely made, settling an aching part of himself he’d forgotten existed. A long lost wound that Kakashi has routinely refused to acknowledge, because he’s always been a coward in the most pathetic way. 

That is he was, until Iruka. 

Kakashi’s eyes track the movement as the pen leaves Iruka’s mouth only to begin scribbling in the margin, and Kakashi pities Iruka’s brat for a moment before he belatedly realizes there is another sort of warmth emanating around his hand under the covers. 

Iruka’s palm, his fingers, his skin, all pressing into Kakashi’s in this one point of contact. Kakashi’s glad for the way the blankets are above his nose, because the searing heat of his flush and its intensity is almost embarrassing. They’re just holding hands, Kakashi thinks, but there is a nagging little feeling at the base of his head that is insisting this is more. That whatever dreaminess Iruka embodies is a result of Kakashi’s own bruised heart’s longing. 

Before he’d fallen asleep, he must have admitted something, must have told Iruka another one of those tricky half-truths. And maybe it’s mercy that keeps his mind from placing the memory--his brain still too muddled with sickness and grogginess to recall what he had said. But it couldn’t have been all bad because as a result Iruka’s steady warmth resides with him, carefully held against his chest. A heavy heat that doesn’t press against Kakashi’s heart but eases it instead. Loose, thick fingers hold Kakashi in place-- Kakashi can feel the warmth of Iruka’s knuckles through his shirt, even. It’s a wonder Iruka hasn’t felt the way he stilled, as he’s so engrossed Kakashi can’t even blame him. If anything it’s a sort of sweet reprieve, as he knows whatever it is he’s afraid to name, even now, is written plainly across his face. 

It’s as if summoned by his own thoughts that Iruka notices him them, and Kakashi sees him turn in slow motion. Strands of dark hair frame his face that Kakashi itches to feel between his fingers. The smoothness of his skin fuzzy, blurring at the edges in the yellow lamplight. 

Kakashi desperately hopes he isn’t dreaming. 

Iruka’s smile is tentative, shy in a way that Kakashi doesn’t often see. It shatters the dream within his head, and Kakashi feels it hit like a punch to his solar plexus. 

“Good morning, sweetheart. How did you sleep?” 

**Author's Note:**

> THANK U SO MUCH FOR READING THIS!!!! 
> 
> one day i will learn how to embed links on this site but today is not that day. u can find me on twitter @ moonswaths if u want to scream about kkir ;-) i am very good at that
> 
> also the title of the fic comes from phoebe bridgers' "savior complex" MAUAAAHAH
> 
> ANYWAY KUDOS AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED MUAHHHHHH


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